"Huh? But, Mom!" Danny looked deeply puzzled. "What's wrong?"
"You're looking forward to another two hours of sex, I suppose."
"Well… Well, aren't we going to?"
"No."
"Why not? Aw, shit, Mom!"
"Danny!" she drew herself erect. "That'll be all of that kind of language."
"But gee, Mom! What's all the fuss?"
"No fuss. Just time we understood each other. Time to find out where each of us stands."
He attempted to divert her. "Rather lay," he said with a grin.
"Of course!" She smiled. "Look, Danny. You've got to learn a lot yet before you can spend all your time on sex. Maybe by then you'll know better. The point is, this thing of ours got started in a sort of misunderstanding. When you found those doors open and barged in on me, you made some remark about having had the wrong idea about privacy. Well, modesty's another word that has something to do with privacy. Privacy and modesty mean just about the same thing in this house now as they did before that day."
"The same kind of off-limits things, Mom?"
"Yes. You caught me at the very worst spot in a changeover of my ideas and… well, values. I'm not going into that with you, but things were so confused I let you assume things that weren't true. And I let you make plans that aren't going to get carried out."
"Like what plans, Mom?"
She saw an edge of fear in his expression. He knows he's about to lose something he thought he had sewed up, she thought. She felt a pang of sympathy, but her obligation was clear. "Like your idea we were going to play sex games every time the coast was clear… that you had a license to play sex games with me whenever you felt like it. It's not going to work that way. You lucked out about getting a real-life demonstration of what Mr. Duffy was talking about. You even got to try out some pretty wild ideas of your own. But that's as far as it goes. I get my sex from your father, and I like it. When it's time for you to get yours, you're on your own. I'll answer questions. I might even listen to fantasies sometimes and tell you how they affect me – or whether I think they're possible. But I'm not going to be a guinea pig for you."
"You mean, like Smokey?"
She smiled again. "Like Smokey. Incidentally, if you do find a girl who's willing to try that, she might like it better the first time if you can work it so she's on her back. She'll have less psychological blocks to overcome and more erotic contact with the animal."
Her son's eyes widened. She realized he was speculating – that he must suspect she'd continued that line of research without his knowledge. But she wasn't concerned; she expected him to harbor some residue of erotic notions about her from now on.
"The fact is, Danny, I might even let you play with me once in a while. That's not a promise, and you shouldn't count on it, but it isn't impossible that I might feel like it someday. In the meantime, you'd better get a good look at me right now, because I'm through posing for you."
Chapter 10
Helen had Art to herself that evening. Danny climaxed a restless afternoon by requesting permission to eat at a pizza place downtown and see one of the new movies, and she was quite willing to agree. Before he left, Danny brought up the subject of the donkey again.
"Don't get mad, Mom, but I was wondering."
"What?"
"Well, most people don't get around donkeys very much. Do you think dogs would be as likely to do that as Smokey was?"
She hesitated. "Probably," she replied at last.
"Mom, was he good?"
She felt a flush rise to her face. "Yes. Very good."
"Hmmm."
He had been gone only a few minutes when Art got home, and Art had seen Danny.
"I saw Dan crossing a vacant lot about six blocks from here. Where's he going?"
She told him.
"Oh." Art's voice sounded lighter. "How come you're all dressed then?"
She sniffed. "Seems to me there was something about people being modest." She grinned at his pained expression. "Look, hon," she said. "I had a chance to take a good look at myself while you were with Van this afternoon. I decided I'd swung like a pendulum. I was a first-class Victorian – a Grandma Farrell – until I realized I was going to lose you that way. So I went to the other extreme – a no-holds-barred nympho. Well, I think I know what I am, now."
"Yeah? Well enough to tell me?"
"I think so. I love sex, honey. I'll do anything or let anything happen to me… at the right time, with the right person and when I'm in the right mood. I'm going to be my own boss about that, and I'm not going to let Grandma Farrell's ghost scare me out of having fun or let every casual stimulus stampede me into tearing my clothes off."
Art was studying her with an expression of obvious respect. She leaned against him and let her love for him show in her smile.
"Of course, darling…" she spoke softly. "The strongest stimulus I know is seeing you want me. And that's never casual."
"If I get a 'let's screw' look in my eye, off come the clothes?" he asked with a grin.
"If that's what you want. Or on they stay, if you want it that way."
He began to look agitated. "What about guys like Barry?"
"I'm not sure. Barry's good with sex. I don't mind having him make love to me. But he's not so important to me that I'd let him if you didn't want me to. And I'm certainly not terribly interested in trying out anyone else, unless you think I ought to." She hesitated, then continued. "If I see a guy who really turns me on, I'll tell you about him and we'll decide if I ought to try him out."
Art whistled. "Goddamn! That doesn't sound like a woman talking! Sounds like the way a man would think!"
"There's been some pressure," she said. "It wasn't the kind of pressure I could have survived with tears or wishful thinking. Maybe it took survival-type logic." She smiled in an effort to appear disarming. "I guess that's what men call 'man-type thinking'."
He growled. "Come on, you sexy broad. Let's eat so we'll have some time for screwing!"
She got supper ready, pausing from time to time to enjoy one of Art's lewd caresses, and they ate quickly. Art helped her with the dishes, and while she was polishing the sink and cabinet, he began to unbutton her dress. She gave herself up to a delicious, all-over tingle and completed her work with a hasty swipe of the cloth. Hanging it over the faucet, she turned to face her husband.
Art pushed her dress off her shoulders and she let it slide to the floor, remembering how her dressing gown had fallen beside the bathtub. She watched Art's jaw twitch as he unfastened her bra and pulled it away from her tits. And she rested the heels of her hands on the cabinet and leaned back, the cold edge pressing the small of her back while Art closed his lips over one puckered nipple. When he straightened, his hands already rolling down the top of her panties, he sighed gustily.
"I'm going to like the new Helen best of all," he said.
"Me, too!" Helen shivered.
The telephone rang at precisely the moment that Helen drew her foot out of her panties. She wrinkled her nose.
Art swore. "Oh, shit! Now what!"
"I'll get it, honey."
"Well… Okay, but I'll go with you."
When she picked up the receiver, he stood behind her. She leaned against him and he cupped his hands over her boobs, kneading gently.
"Hello?"
"Hi. This is Van."
"Oh! Hi, Van."
"Helen, Barry and I were wondering if you and Art would like to come over for some games tonight."
Helen repeated the message to Art. He hesitated.
"I'm not too eager about it right now," he said. "It's up to you, though."
She spoke into the mouthpiece. "Van, would you be awfully upset if we took a raincheck?"
"No, I guess not. Say, did Art tell you what happened this afternoon?"
"No."
"One of the pipes in the upstairs bathroom ruptured. The place was flooded! I had to call a plumber, and there were three of them here all afternoon running copper tubing. Art and I spent five hours trying to save everything that was wet. Tell him, 'Thanks again!' "